Irises
by SunlitMercy
Summary: Each pair brings a different ending...


**Alright, it's been quite awhile since I've posted something. Sorry! This is written for The Clown That Smiles! Jo, I'm SUPER sorry it took me this long to post it out, but you have no idea just how busy I've been….it's insane :p**

**Hope you like!**

**Sunny**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Lost Boys**

**{***}**

Like the creamy blue of the afternoon sky, his eyes were perfect, bright pictures. They shined and sparkled, gleaming like newfound sapphires rescued from the clutches of a mining shaft. They were mischievous and cunning, always holding comic relief deep within their grasps. Their benevolence was attractive to anyone willing to go as far as he would for attention. When he danced and sang his little spells to lure his prey, his eyes were alighted. They seemed to stretch in a smile, a toothy grin that sparkled like the sun on ocean water. They changed shades of blue, however, if he was in a particular mood. Robin egg, sky blue, indigo, any color blue in existence, his eyes seemed to master it. They always flashed with a joking like stature, always seeming to play the fool in situations. His eyes liked to trick, they liked to tease and make you believe that he was stupid, naïve, incapable of understanding his surroundings. His eyes played him a fool, but he was far beyond that. His intelligence was higher than most who attended Ivy League schools, burning thousands of dollars for the knowledge he obtained in his extensive years as a vampire. But he liked this idiotic self image his eyes gave him; it was a hunting mechanism that worked quite well for him. The blue was charming, humorous, seeming to laugh at everything that passed him by.

But the yellow was not.

It burned with a fiery horror that repelled any living being, including you. It swirled like flames on an open fire, a psychotic, loose ended look glazing over the gentle pastels. Hell's fire burned in those yellow eyes as, instead of a smile, a savage snarl erupted from his irises. He was done with the mask, peeling off the stuffy plastic to reveal his shadowed past, present, and future. He was still a joker, still a teaser, but he was no idiot. He was in control, juggling the edge of your life and death in his clawed hands.

Who played the fool now?

{***}

His eyes were like a dark chocolate charcoal, flickering with sparks of cleverness and rebellion. They were a pool of dark mahogany, deep and bottomless. His eyes were brooding, murky, intellectual, beyond the run of the mill. Of course, he wasn't average either and his eyes had a good way of showing it. If you happen to be the unlucky pick that night, getting trapped inside his blazing brown gaze, you would suspect something more than just a young man looking for a bit of trouble.

The irises sought your deepest secrets, bared into your soul, fishing out your thoughts, feelings, everything that made you, you. He dug deep inside you, burning his way into your mind, before turning you inside out. His eyes would glaze over, accepting the newly stolen erudition about your being. From one glance of those smoldering irises, he could read you like a freshly printed book, spine still perfectly intact from never being used.

That was you; you were a book and those eyes were your master.

The brown could be warm, however, even if the trait was only fugacious. Those eyes would turn somewhat tender and humorous, lighting up like the sky on the Fourth of July. Only his brothers could spring forth what little loving emotion his eyes could manage to portray. It was lucky if it even happened then. That brown was smoldering, shameless, and sometimes warm.

But the yellow was not.

The blazing color was like a bright, damned inferno. It burst forth like fire on a gasoline trail, melting what little brown was left, away. This color, this new set of irises seemed to explain the soul searching, the secret stealing, the silent, horrifying observations. The new eyes revealed the reason behind it all, behind the madness of his games. They told why he knew you, why he read you from the inside out.

You were still his book, and he was still your master.

But this time, his eyes burned you.

{***}

The ocean tide.

That's what you imagined when you looked into his eyes. Those blue irises that held bold flecks of sea green, those rings of ocean spray glossy against black pupils; glints of animosity unlike anything else swam in those perfect pools of green and blue. They were mesmerizing, pulling at you like an invisible chord wrapped around your hand. They spoke to you in a language only _your_ ears could understand, transmitting encoded messages to your mind. The blue and green swirled together, mixing in complete perfection to create solid masses of round irises.

They were playful, but not joking like the other. His eyes glinted with a sly confidence that could possibly be passed off as a child-like immaturity. His eyes were the ones you felt most comfortable looking at, for they seemed understandable, young and in many ways so were you. That was your one mistake.

You trusted his eyes.

That blue and green was benevolent, childish, striking.

But the yellow was not.

It drowned the beautiful blues and greens, scorching the gentle waters of the juvenile eyes. The yellow left his orbs a harsh monstrosity, a crude, horrifying sight. You could no longer find the immaturity, the youth, in his eyes, only a hunger so deep and strong it seemed to singe the edges of your soul. They were older now, experienced and deadly and dangerous, ripping at your spirit with a sick passion. There was nothing left to love anymore, nothing left to understand or have faith in.

His eyes broke you into tiny pieces scattered on the ground for him to crush beneath his boots.

He shattered your trust.

{***}

Catacombs.

His eyes were like the catacombs of Paris, filled with death, bitter cold, and not a hint of remorse. They were crammed with the bodies of the innocent, one after the other, stacked on top of each other in the damp, dark tunnels. Corpses left to rot and seep into the frosty dirt of the underground seemed to glint in his eyes. They gave you that dangerous sensation, one that told you to follow your instincts and _run_. That blue was frozen, like the tundra glazed over with a thick layer of ice. The wind seemed to howl and scream in those eyes, that light, frosty blue warning you to come any closer. They made you feel alone, singled out, helpless and you felt as if there wasn't anything you could do to nurse this sensation. You couldn't look away because the bodies, those souls, ghosts that lingered in his irises wanted you. They _needed _you to listen, to hear their beautifully depressing story of how they were captured and imprisoned in his eyes. Death didn't release them, only sent them to a place fouler than hell. That ice blue was chilling, yet captivating in a mocking, hazardous way, making you feel as if you owed him something.

And you did.

You owed him your soul, for he kept all those spirits, the everlasting wanderers, in his orbs, never drawing out the plans to release them. He took sick pride in his ghost collection, always eager to add to the screaming, moaning pleas of his victims. The victims hidden, buried, within those catacombs.

That blue was haunting, sensational, a deep, never ending adventure.

But the yellow was not.

Perhaps it was just as bad as the light in his eyes, perhaps it was worse. The yellow was terrifying, yet concluding. It justified his reason for locking those souls up, keeping them away from their desired destination. He was just like them, just like those ghosts; he was trapped in the immortal catacombs. You saw his pain, but never reached out. Those flames licked and tortured you, drawing out your soul, clawing out your innocence and fear. You couldn't decide which was worse; they were both tormenting. The yellow was evil, burning with desperation to feed on your life, your spirit. The blue was well calculated, all knowing, and deceiving.

You couldn't make a choice, so you chose both.

And both brought you to his catacombs in their own murderous, unforgettable way.

{***}

You tasted chocolate when you looked at her eyes; sweet, bitter, fresh chocolate with a hint of isolation. Not physical, but emotional; you wanted to touch her, to tell those eyes it would all be alright. At first, they were closed inside a tightly sealed wrapper, shining and teasing you with its tempting propaganda. You followed that brown, needing to taste it, to touch it. It was warm, delightful and gave you a fuzzy feeling inside, almost like you were numb. Maybe that was the pain that drifted in and out of her irises that gave you the sense. Maybe you were just being foolish. Her eyes smiled, that chocolate melted on your hands, but when you tried to taste it, those eyes were wrapped up again. They became solid, hard, wary and you knew you had to take your time. You liked those brown eyes, you liked the playfulness, the bitter depression; it made you feel alive. The chase for your own chocolate narcotic was an adrenaline rush, something that made that brown smile and gleam. You liked to see those eyes happy, not sour and hard, so you stuck around, hoping to get another taste.

When the time came, that luscious, melting brown unfolded the wrapper, the casing and released the taste, the impression of what that brown lived for and what it feared. You felt everything those eyes did, everything they saw and experienced.

You were mesmerized.

Those brown eyes drew you in and you followed again, desperate for another taste. They didn't try to warn you off this time; that hadn't worked.

That brown was warm, maternal, lustful.

There was no yellow…but the brown was just as dreadful.

The eyes took no time to warn you again, you had already gotten your chance. They weren't supposed to give it to you in the first place. You got lucky.

Not this time.

That brown glistened with liquid diamonds, the chocolate melted onto the ground, and you were confused.

But you took the drink anyways and let the lukewarm wine trickle down your throat. You felt odd, weak, dizzy; you just wanted to sleep. You didn't know what was happening to you; you were scared.

So you looked to that brown again.

But they didn't melt, they didn't taste like before.

They were bitter again, solid and they turned away from you just like the yellow would have torn you apart.

**{***}**

**So what did you think? Probably not my best work considering I kept having to go back and forth with it to get it just right. **

**Jo, was is good enough? Sorry to make you wait, love!**

**Sunny**


End file.
